See You Later, Alligator
by Darren Jaguar
Summary: Auror Longbottom's life is stale and boring. When it suddenly gets more interesting, he realises it might not be for the best... -Has violent moments.- Alternate Universe of an alternate universe, so AU-AU. AUception!
1. See You Later, Alligator

**CHAPTER ONE: See You Later, Alligator**

_Au plafond de ma chambre,  
J'ai peint des étoiles,  
Le ciel, la pièce, ça l'agrandit,_

_(On my bedroom ceiling,  
__I painted stars,  
__For the sky makes the room bigger,)  
_

_See You Later Alligator__, Louise Attaque__  
_

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The coffee – black, no sugar, with a hint of cardamom – tasted stale. The sandwich, generously lathered with butter, mustard and ham, tasted stale. The air itself in the office, the permanent Air-Freshening Charm clearly not doing its work correctly, tasted stale. Hell, everything tasted stale. Well, everything except the Firewhiskey he kept in a flask at his belt. He took a swig, washing down the dank, floury scraps of sandwich.

There was a feeling of persistence: he had sat in that office deep underground for about a year, occasionally exiting the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to patrol Diagon Alley, as his orders dictated. But the desk job wasn't for him. All arrogance aside, he was _better_ than just a secretary, and should have some bigger things on his plate. He'd had a good amount of experience hunting down Dark wizards during the War, so why did he get stuck doing other peoples' paperwork? He was doing Auror _Tanner_'s paperwork for Merlin's sake, and the guy was incompetent. Why should he be sat at a desk when he was a fully qualified Assault Auror?

The thin line between the regular Aurors and Assault Aurors was not so thin, the latter designating a whole new level of competence in Dark wizard hunting and ward-breaking. Being a glorified secretary was _not_ part of his job description.

His reverie was cut asunder as a familiar face came up to the window and knocked. The Auror Division of the DMLE was composed of a large hall with adjoining offices of considerable size, with windows facing inwards to allow openness. There were, of course, blinds on the windows in the event that the occupants were busy handling their missions or, in the Second-in-Command Jonathan Stanley's case, handling his latest batch of womanly "goods". One could only wonder how he kept his affairs secret from his wife. Then, not waiting for a response to his knock, Stanley slid open the window from the outside. Speak of the devil.

"Longbottom, I've got some reports for you to deal with. Be a good man and handle it, will you? I've got to interrogate with a witness."

The "witness" tried to be discreet, and failed, her anticipatory giggle revealing her presence. He wondered briefly what Stanley hoped to achieve by lying, since everyone in the Division knew he screwed about a third of the witch population of Great Britain in his office. He nodded, not wanting his tongue to betray him and unleash a year of frustration at the younger wizard.  
Pureblood politics got Stanley that rank. He graduated from Hogwarts a year after Neville, and he only did one year of Auror training instead of the two years necessary for the qualification of Assault Auror, entering the Division at the same time as him. And getting quickly promoted. Neville sighed and took another swig from his flask, getting up from the swivel chair to grab the pile of Stanley's files and bring them back to his desk.

There were five desks in the office, composing the standard team formation. The desks faced each other, from opposite sides of the room, the fifth desk opposite the door. That desk belonged to Assault Auror Harris, their commanding officer, who had a year more experience in the field than Neville. She often told him, under cover of a Quieting Charm, that she was still trying to get Neville off the desk and into action, but she kept hitting a brick wall, unable to get Neville out of the office due to orders from the brass. Their superiors were crazy about bureaucracy, but they didn't want to fill in the forms themselves, naturally. Neville liked her. She was no-nonsense when it came to her job, doing it with a cheery and swift disposition. She never shut up about Quidditch though, but that wasn't as big an annoyance as could be expected.

The same could be said for Pippa Logan. Neville thought she wasn't too bad an Auror, if he ignored her unhealthy and thankfully unrequited infatuation for Stanley. Then of course there was James Tanner, who was anything _but_ a good Auror. It wasn't his fault: he was, quite simply, shite. And last but not least, the fifth desk was occupied – in theory – by Ron. The poor bloke had been through a lot since he got into the Division.

Ron had married Hermione straight out of the now-infamous Battle of Hogwarts. Ron spent a year at Auror Academy, only going for regular Auror status, whilst Hermione did a Higher Magical Education Degree in Magical Theory. Hermione then started a Spec-MED, but didn't get very far. Shit happened.

Ron had, apparently, seen her screwing none other than Stanley, in the very office he still occupied. She denied it vehemently, but the damage was done. Neville had asked Ron, and the redhead was sure that it had been her on his desk. So they had split, violently. Ron was becoming an alcoholic, and his work suffered for it, whilst Hermione had dropped out of Avalon University and was moping around at Grimmauld Place. And now Neville had to pick up the pieces. He thanked Merlin that Mandy and Fay were still around, so that he could get on with his job and help either of his friends in his free time. Mandy was currently taking two H-MEDs, but nonetheless had enough downtime to look after Hermione, whilst Fay was... well, Fay. She could cheer anyone up. The fact her usual bubbly madness wasn't making Hermione happy, or even getting a rise out of her, wasn't a good sign. Neville sighed, unhappy that their peaceful, post-War paradise had been ruined.

Ron had been coming into work nuttier and nuttier, sinking into the alcoholic spiral to the point that he could no longer function without booze, yet it didn't help him deal with his problems. Neville suspected he'd got into drugs too, but couldn't confirm. Stanley's gloating didn't help the situation: it had been about a year since the dubious event, but the git was still getting off on Ron's depression. Twat.

Once again speaking of the devil, there was a thump on the door, as if someone was trying to open it but had stumbled into it instead. After a couple of tries, Ron managed to open it and career into the office. Neville quickly cast as powerful a Repelling Charm as he could, silently, on his friend's desk. His quick thinking was rewarded as Ron tripped up, falling towards the table, but was pushed back onto his feet, from where he fell into his chair. He wondered briefly why Ron had bothered turning up fifty minutes before the end of his shift, but was interrupted by his colleague's slurring.

"Hey Nev, nice hat. Like your grandma's, with a pretty pigeon on top..."

His inane grin and nonsense confirmed the use of a Luminescent Hallucinatory Potion, colloquially known as "Sparkles". Neville sighed, and debated how he was going to handle this.

He was saved by the door opening, revealing Harris. She glanced around, taking in every detail of the room, and sighed.

"Longbottom, Weasley. Is that pile of paperwork what I think it is?" she asked, gazing at Stanley's paperwork.

"Yes, yes it is," Neville replied, "This one sounded even gigglier than usual."

Harris rolled her eyes, then looked at Ron, analysing the situation, before returning her gaze to me. "I have a deal for you, Longbottom. You handle Weasley, and I'll start on the files. I have patience, but if he doesn't get back on form he'll be kicked out."

Neville nodded, "Yes, ma'am." He was debating telling Molly Weasley about her son's descent into depression, but she still hadn't been told that Hermione and Ron had split up. Last time he saw her she interrogated him, pretty much at wandpoint, about Ron and Hermione and whether Hermione was pregnant yet, whether they'd spend Christmas with the family, whether she'd pick pink or blue wool to make the theoretical baby a bonnet, and if it wasn't better to choose a colour without such gender stereotyping, and many more. Neville had shrugged, and Molly had nodded, believing he didn't have a clue either.

Neville was thankful for magic. Dragging Ron to his house would have been unthinkable, so a Petrifying Hex and Levitation Charm later and they were well on his way to the nearest Apparition Point. After Disillusioning them both as a precaution, he Apparated them both to "Whiteway", as Ron always called it.

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97 Mount Road, Bath. Neville glanced out of the main window in the living room downstairs and smiled sadly, picking out the name of a shop opposite his friend's house. Handily for Ron given his current state, the simple, semi-detached house the Ministry had given him as a war hero was right in front of a Muggle shop named "Bargain Booze."

Neville removed the Disillusionment and other Charms, letting Ron get to his feet in his own time. Experience dealing with Ron's drunken messes meant that Neville had a Shield Charm up before Ron even began to throw up: the same experience also told him that it was a very good idea, for though the Cleaning Charm worked wonders, the smell always stayed on the robes. He cleaned it up and took Ron to his bed, before grabbing a vial of hangover potion from the redhead's well-stocked cupboard, placing it on the bedside table. Neville sighed, and headed back downstairs to have a look around.

His friend's state was getting out of hand. Where the house had once been rather organised, due to Hermione's anally retentive streak, now it was a pigsty. In the first few months or so of Ron's depression, the house was even tidier and cleaner than it had been previously, in what a psychologist might call an attempt to act as if Hermione had never left. Then came the standard empty bottles of booze scattered around the floor, then the various bottles and pouches of drugs, also empty and abandoned. The house smelt of stale vomit – _stale_ – and mould. Neville didn't dare open the fridge door for fear of what he might find growing in there.

It was even danker than Sirius' old house at Grimmauld Place. And that was saying something.

He conjured a piece of parchment and quickly penned a note for Ron with the tip of his wand, suggesting that he shape up and come clean to his parents before something _truly_ bad happened.

That done, he Apparated back to the Ministry of Magic.

"That was quick," Harris muttered at me as I entered the office, not even looking up from the papers, "If I were you, I'd have spent as much time as possible so I could avoid doing this paperwork, especially since I gave you permission."

Neville shrugged, "I couldn't bear to stay at his house any longer. Too many memories."

Harris nodded to him with a nostalgic smile on her face, "You'd think life would be easier without a Dark Lord trying to kill everyone, but our problems have only just started. Come over here, I need you to sign some of these reports _you _just did," the smile turned conspiratorial. He smiled back, and grabbed a quill from his desk.

They remained in companionable silence for a moment, both scribbling away at the papers.

Harris was the one to break it. She paused mid-report, as if wondering whether or not she could trust Neville with the information, before finally making up her mind and setting up a Quieting Charm. "_Quietus._ So, this is just between you, me and the gatepost, right, but do you know how many Death Eaters we've caught since the War?"

He shrugged in response. "I don't actually know. The only reports I've signed have been about people exonerated from whatever accusation it was, and to be honest I stopped paying attention to the content after the first hundred. Why?"

"If you'd been paying attention," there was a glint of humour in her eyes, which suddenly vanished to make way for a deathly serious look, "You'd have noticed that amongst the names on the list were Dolohov, Avery, Gibbon, Macnair, Yaxley, and a hell of a lot more, but those are the ones of note. I was rather annoyed to notice that Rosier was pardoned, and received a thousand-Galleon payoff from the Wizengamot for having inconvenienced him with a trial."

Neville's jaw dropped.

"Some people say the Ministry is going to the dogs. It already did, a long time ago," she finished.

He nodded in reply, having nothing of use to say. Harris smiled grimly, before cancelling the Charm and getting up from his desk, signalling that she was done with his paperwork and was going to work on her own.

"I need a coffee. You want one?"

He glanced at his unfinished coffee, and shook his head. As she left the office, he heated it up again with a Charm and took a sip. Still stale.

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It was getting late, 9 PM, and having finally finished the pile of reports Neville Apparated to what some would describe as the middle of nowhere. It was in fact a mountain, named Merrick, on the south-western end of Scotland. He had, of course, Disillusioned himself in case of Muggle hikers in the area, before striding towards an empty patch of land where he knew there was in fact a small house.

He felt the Wards as he passed through them. He'd done a damn fine job on them. It had taken a good few months to set them up and anchor them correctly, and his work rivalled Gringotts in its security. A Muggle-Repelling Ward on layer upon layer of anti-transport Wards – AA, AD, AP _and_ FC, covering pretty much all magical forms of transport – along with several different SEP and Enemy-Repelling Wards, topped off with a Dark Mark Ward. He'd slept for three days straight once he'd finished setting the defences up, and now it was pretty much impregnable to any enemy that tried to find it, if they even knew where it was. Neville had a habit of Apparating via at least two locations before returning home, to avoid being followed. Some called it paranoia. The more experienced Aurors thought it rather clever of him. The greatest amongst Dark wizard hunters noticed a disturbing number of Mad-Eye Moody's traits in Neville, such as keeping a spare wand in the desk at the office, or asking security questions of people whose identity he couldn't instantly be sure of. Unsurprising, given the training the grizzled old wizard had given the young Gryffindor during the War.

_It's not paranoia if they really are after you_, he thought as he considered adding a Weapon-Prevention Ward, given what he'd learnt about the now "innocent" Death Eaters.

He'd gone via Longbottom Manor in Cornwall, among other locations, to check on the Wards. He hadn't set foot there since the War, but he planned on eventually returning there in the future, when his life finally got on track.

For now, he lived in his little house with his girlfriend. He headed to the front door and opened it gently, grinning as he called, "Honey, I'm home!"

"Did you bring me a Purple-Eared Snottle as you promised?" came a slightly muffled answer.

Neville sniggered, and entered. The downstairs was laid out very simply; completely open plan, a small kitchen/dining room and a living room both as part of the same ensemble, with a spiral staircase leading upstairs to their bedroom, the spare room, the bathroom. Behind the spiral staircase was a trapdoor, currently open, that led to a ladder down to his girlfriend's laboratory and his study, both part of the same actual room so that they could keep each other company whilst they worked.

"Cuppa?" he asked.

"Oooh, yes!"

He lit the magic stove and dumped the kettle onto it, whilst idly preparing the two cups, tossing a bog-standard teabag into one and a pinch of violet flowers and green tea leaves into another. Once he'd filled the mugs and lowered the kettle back onto the now-unlit stove, he felt the smooth caress of her arms snaking around him from behind, the soft tingle of a kiss on the back of his neck. The electric tingle lingered a while, leaving him shuddering slightly, and he slowly turned around.

"How was work, Nev?" Luna asked him with her patented dreamy smile.

"Same old, same old," he shrugged, "Stanley _interrogated_ at least three witnesses today."

"Only three? He must be losing his touch," she laughed melodiously.

Luna was, frankly, an amazing person. Academically speaking, she was gifted in any field you could name. She'd finished both her H-MED and Spec-MED in Practical Zoology in two years instead of the usual four, and was debating whether or not to follow through to a Research Degree. She was one of the best duellists in Hogwarts, had the creativity to make her Transfiguration better than McGonagall's, and her Charmwork was top notch. I only beat her in Warding, and that's because she chose not to study it too much because she didn't find the subject that interesting. And in her _favourite_ field, zoology, she redefined the term of "expert".

And she wasn't just academically amazing. She had a happy, cheery disposition to rival the most powerful of Patroni, and that dreamy smile of hers was to die for. Most thought her to look gormless, but it was that look that ensnared Neville and made him fall in love with her in the first place. Some called her Loony, or a Lunatic, or poetic, or just nuts, but the only way to do her justice was to describe her as Luna. She was unique.

Her being Luna, her actual appearance was secondary to Neville, no way near as important to him as her personality, but she was beautiful no matter how you chose to define beauty. The smooth, long hair; the soft, silky lips; the sweet, lovely eyes of such a deeply pale blue that you could drown in them.

Ah, there is was again, that uniquely dreamy smile, and he gazed at it, unblinking. The house could be torn away by a black hole in that very instant and he wouldn't care. _That's_ how she made him feel.

They spent the remainder of the evening drinking tea and eating Marmite cheese on toast, as Luna excitedly explained her latest experiment. Neville didn't really understand every test she mentioned when it came to determining the existence or non-existence of "Mountain Mulrogs", a type of Mulrog – whatever one of those was – that spent its time in mountainous areas, occasionally conjuring lights like a Hinkypunk or Will-o'-the-Wisp, only instead of luring walkers to their doom they led them to shelters or caves in dangerous weather. Apparently. Some of the names of tests he recognised, like the Scamander Test, or the Merlinian Analysis, but not everything made sense to him. Knowing Luna, she was well aware, and was vindictively making some test names up in order to confuse him further. He smiled and took a bite of his toast, savouring the well-matured Cheddar, as the monologue continued relentlessly.

Not to say it wasn't interesting. Neville learned that evening that there were in fact Mountain Mulrogs on the Merrick, and that before revealing this to the wide world Luna hoped to determine if River Mulrogs, Ocean Mulrogs and Hill Mulrogs really existed or were just legends.

It was the first hint of the decision that she would take later that night.

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**AN: **This is a plot bunny that, along with some other, less interesting factors, kept me up until 5 AM. It is of course AU, based quite heavily off the principle of my other work. Pretty much everything is identical to my unfinished series: the original characters, their pasts and current jobs, the setup of the Wizarding World... major differences are Neville, who for all intents and purposes is a new NEW Neville, and the events.  
A quick thanks to a friend of mine who helped a _lot_ with the writing of this. Go give her some link-love, will you? You can find her on Deviantart as Eveeyoroshi, or on Facebook as BaBeDiVui~.


	2. Many Miles Away

_**PREVIOUSLY: **__Neville Longbottom, Assault Auror, has been working paperwork for a year and has had enough. Ron and Hermione Weasley have broken up due to Hermione's dubious infidelity with his boss, Jonathan Stanley, and both are spiralling into depression. When Neville learns from his team leader Xan Harris that a good number of Death Eaters were found as "innocent", he gets rather annoyed. And his girlfriend Luna has to make a decision that will have a great many repercussions..._

**CHAPTER TWO: Many Miles Away**

_Many miles away,  
There's a shadow on the door,  
Of a cottage on the shore,  
Of a dark Scottish lake,_

_Many miles away…_

_Synchronicity II__, Police_

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Neville was up early. 7 AM, according to the bedside clock. He sat up in the bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, before turning to gaze at Luna, who was sleeping softly beside him. He smiled as he stared at her in the light of the rising summer sun peeking around the edge of the curtains, until he remembered their conversation from the night before and the smile faded, replaced with a grim, resigned expression.

He rather quickly, yet unhurriedly, had a shower and pulled on his tracksuit trousers and black shirt, donning his Auror robes over the top. He toasted a couple of slices of bread and had them with marmalade, but they tasted off and stale. He finished them nonetheless, filled a flask with tea and refilled his hipflask with Firewhiskey. The bottle itself was nearly empty, so he downed the remnants to save stowing the bottle away in the cupboard, the feeling of soothing warmth spreading through him.

Neville left the house with the bottle still in hand, lobbing it into the air as hard as he could over the edge of a small nearby cliff. With inhuman reflexes he drew his wand and erased the bottle from existence with a perfectly aimed Reductor Curse. It felt oddly satisfying to use his wand for something other than conjuring ink.

He Apparated to work, via Cornwall, Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley. His watch said 7:45, and he technically started at 9, so on reaching the Department of Magical Law Enforcement he headed not for the Auror Division offices but the Hit Wizard Firing Range.

"The firing range is for Hit Wizards, Auror. I can't allow you in," Neville was told by Travis – or was it Bevis – in any case, the guy standing at the door. The Hit Wizard quickly changed his mind as he saw the frustration burning behind Neville's eyes, and let him into the deserted room.

A bit of simple Transfiguration and the practice dummies looked very familiar. After activating them so that they were shielded, would dodge his spells and throw back some Striking Hexes, he got started.

Gibbon fell to a Blasting Curse that, with the emotion and force behind it, tore the Shield to shreds of turquoise sparks and atomised the dummy, leaving a pile of smoking ashes. Bellatrix was next, for the second time, to a simple Stunner that sent her careering into a wall. Dolohov was fried despite his Shield by a bolt of lightning, and Yaxley was snapped horizontally with a resounding CRACK under a Pressure Curse. Avery was thrown back so hard by Neville's overcharged Foehammer Curse that he crashed through the solid stone wall, setting the ground itself shaking around the Auror, dust and debris tumbling around the room. Malfoy was halved across the chest by a Severing Curse. One dummy remained, and shot off three quick Striking Hexes, all of which Neville blocked with grace and skill, before conjuring a Skybeam that tore Rosier's body into dust and left the wall behind him orange with heat.

Neville's wand arm dropped to his side. He felt drained, which was to be expected from unleashing that much frustration, but above all it had definitely helped his mood. His lips curled in a genuine smile as he took a swig from his flask of tea.

Travis opened the door and stared. As did the Hit Wizards in the office on the other side of the wall he had pulverised.

"What's up, Longbottom?" Auror Harris was behind Travis, grinning as she strolled around the room, bending to pick up the scorched head of what had been a Transfigured Rosier, "Frustrated much?"

After he'd helped clear up he went to start on that day's pile of reports, and all the time Harris was watching his progress – clearly having nothing better to do. It was when she spotted Neville downing the entire contents of his hipflask that she walked over and unceremoniously sat on his desk.

"You can't stay quiet forever, Neville. Gryffindor emotions are easy to read, and you're no exception. What's the problem?"

Her previous grin was gone, now replaced with a look of worry.

Neville sighed, knowing he couldn't get away with not telling her. Harris was an adept of that look that made you feel guilty for even daring to mope. "My life is getting away from me. I'm still stuck at this desk, when I should be hunting down bad guys. Meanwhile, two of my best friends are breaking down and might be unsalvageable, and then my girlfriend is about to go off on a two-year trip around the world with an old crush of hers."

"Don't you trust her?" Harris raised an eyebrow, skipping over the things she already knew to focus on Luna's departure.

"More than anyone or anything. I'm not worried about Rolf Scamander, he's never been that bad a guy in my book..." Neville took a pause, and a deep breath. "... it's the fact that me being an Auror means that if she wants to be with me she can't do what she wants to do and should have the right to do, gallivanting across the globe in search of unknown magical creatures."

"Resign then," Harris shrugged, "It's not like they'll ever let you off paperwork duty. Resign, go off with her, and explore the world. You have well enough money to have fun for two years. Do it!"

Neville shook his head, "I'll get in the way. I love her, and she loves me, and would love me to go with her, but I'll be the metaphorical third wheel. They won't be in enough danger to need a duellist with them, and I don't know enough about magical creatures to help in tracking and researching them."

Harris left a pause. "So what _will_ you do then? Let me make it clear that you will _not_ be moping around here. Snap out of it, Longbottom, or I'll snap you out of it."

"Carrot or stick?"

"Stick. And if you're not careful, you'll find it jammed where the sun doesn't shine."

Neville grinned, "Anywhere in the Ministry, then?"

His superior didn't respond, simply grabbing one of the reports on Neville's desk and Transfigured it into a rather crooked, pointy stick. He held his hands up in a placating gesture, and she removed the Transfiguration.

"So when is she heading off?"

"Tomorrow afternoon."

Harris shrugged, "You'll survive. And I hope you do. If you don't, Stanley will start making _me_ do paperwork."

Neville rolled his eyes. "Knowing him, he's more likely to commit a crime in front of you so that he can 'interrogate' you. Or better, you can arrest him. I heard he likes a woman in unif- GAH!"

There was humour in her eyes as she lowered her hand. Neville rubbed his smarting cheek, where a red mark was slowly appearing.

Totally worth the slap.

"The day you see me in that office 'witnessing' something of his, Stun me, 'cause it'll be Polyjuice or Imperius," she grinned.

There was a knock at the window, followed by a voice.

"Auror Harris, you mind coming to my office? I'm signing some gear out for a team and I need a witness," Stanley asked.

Harris nodded, and Neville almost choked to death on his own laughter as he bit his tongue in half. Once Stanley had gone, Harris gave him another slap, then got up from the desk and headed to the door, turning around as she began to open it.

"It's a shame you're on desk duty, and a shame they found those Death Eaters 'innocent'."

"Why's that?"

"One spell, one hit. You're a damn fine duellist. You should have gone to the Hit Wizards; _they'd_ use your skills."

"Auror dental is better."

She rolled her eyes at the overused joke and shut the door behind herself as she left.

So Neville worked on his steadily decreasing pile of reports, and it was about three hours when he realised he had an hour's break. A glance at a piece of parchment pinned to his desk reminded him he was supposed to visit Hermione that lunchtime. He sighed and dropped his quill onto the desk, heading to the Apparition Point.

He had to Apparate to just outside Grimmauld Place: whilst the Fidelius Ward had been torn asunder by the death of Dumbledore, the Secret Keeper, it was still quite well protected by an impressive array of defences. He knocked and entered, not bothering to wait for Hermione's response, and fearing her latest depressive activity.

Where Ron dealt with their split by getting drunk, Hermione went through obsessive periods about certain aspects of her husband. One time she had refused to let Neville and Mandy in until they Transfigured their hair ginger. This time, Wizarding Chess sets littered the sideboards and tables and sofas, each in a certain state of play. Neville recognised some as quite well-known scenarios, though he was incapable of naming them. The witch was currently rushing around from one board to the next, playing her move and not even waiting for the enchanted boards to take their turn, simply moving on to the next in a rather cold, analytic manner. Neville's inner optimist, looking for a bright side to the situation, noted that she was getting better at the game.

"Ah, Neville! Perfect!" she exclaimed cheerfully, not even looking up from a wooden set on the living room floor, "You mind playing a game? I have a set in the kitchen of the loveliest polished glass, and it's all set up already!"

Neville sighed internally, and agreed to a game. Chess was alright. He hoped for her own sake that her next obsession wouldn't be Quidditch, what with her flying abilities.

She played white, and they remained silent for a good portion of the game. Her face was blank, a perfect poker face, only cracking when he took one of her knights. He very quickly massacred her rooks and queen, and he started debating letting her win, if only to help her recover from the state she was now in. He then remembered what had once happened when Ron let her win a duel. He didn't feel like handling bloodstains right now.

She was now reduced to a queen and three pawns, whilst he still had a bishop and rook to complement. From that moment on it was a complete and utter rout. She wasn't getting _that_ much better then.

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Hermione had quickly burst into tears and, due to him having tried to comfort her, Neville's robes were sodden and wet. He hadn't bothered to dry them with or without magic. He returned to the Division, with enough time to grab a sandwich from a deli counter in Muggle London as he Apparated through, and made his way to his desk in the office.

Harris was just leaving for her lunch break, and she nodded to him on the way through. His other colleagues weren't there: Ron because he was probably still passed out in bed; Logan now only worked the night shifts; and Tanner was probably out proving to the criminals of the world that the Auror selection process wasn't really based on merit.

He sighed and started digging back into his paperwork. He thought he saw a familiar face go past through the window, but the venetian blinds didn't make it very easy to recognise people. Using coffee as an excuse to leave the office, he served himself some from a jug on a sideboard with a permanent Warming Charm on it, taking the opportunity to seek whoever it was as he glanced around the room.

There was a crash in Stanley's office, followed by a high-pitched scream, and the door was flung open to reveal a rather disgruntled witch, marching her way out in a hissy fit, slamming the door behind her. She noticed Neville, and was about to greet him when he nodded towards his open office door, and she diverted her course.

Neville followed her in and shut the door, putting down his coffee before he was pounce-hugged by Cyan Swift.

"Neville! How are you? Long time, no see!" the witch grinned at him.

"Bored by my job, and struggling to handle my various friends' depressions," he shrugged, "But otherwise fine. What's up with you? Aren't you halfway through your Spec-MED in Potions by now?"

"Not Potions, Healing!" she rolled her eyes, "All's fine in Cyland, I guess. Except that git back there," she glanced in the very approximate direction of Stanley's office.

Neville sighed. "I'm going to regret asking, but what happened?"

"I got a letter asking me to give a witness statement about a brawl I helped break up in the student union bar, so I came here and gave my statement to Ivy – you remember her, right? She was a year below you, in Hufflepuff, Ivy Scott... Anyway, that guy at the end asked for a more detailed witness statement, so I said 'alright', as you do. So we get in there and what does he do? Try to pull his moves on me," she then grinned as she remembered the end to the story, "You know how the Striking Hex feels sort of like a hard slap? Well I think I chose my target well."

Neville winced as he realised the reason for the scream, then smiled back. "He deserved that. He has a habit of 'interrogating' witnesses this way. And most seem to enjoy it."

Cyan rolled her eyes once again. "Eurk. Anyway, lovely speaking to you and all, Neville, but where's Xan?"

"Lunch break. You can either hang around here for about an hour or head up to the Ministry canteen, on the first floor. She'll probably be hanging around with Leo from the Department of Alliances and Foreign Issues, he seems to be her latest interest."

The witch's smile widened, and turned into a mischievous grin. "Oooh, she was trying to keep him a secret from me, was she?"

Neville nodded at the distracted witch who had left without any further ado, and buried his nose deep in paper once again. He truly, _truly_ realised the ridiculousness of the exercise when he had two reports side by side; one dealing with the arrest of a man for letting his pet Kneazle shit in the courtyard of the illustrious – and above all, stuck-up – Lord Alphonse de Tolbert, and the other exonerating _Fenrir fucking Greyback_ from all charges and suggesting that he be released from Azkaban.

It took all his willpower to not incinerate the damn thing.

The coffee he'd fetched had a rather bland, stale taste, but it was soothing. Neville had never understood how or why, but even the most disgusting coffee in the world was satisfactory to those working on a desk. Speaking of which, he needed more, so he took a trip to the jug in the main hall. And wished he hadn't.

"Hey, Weasley, how's your wife? I guess I'd know better from my vantage point on top of her."

Ron was stood facing Stanley and a couple of other Aurors, anger smouldering in the depths of his eyes, and his clenched fist threatening to snap his wand. And they were getting a rise out of him, in a standard playground bully manner. They turned and went, murmuring a final barb as they headed off. People were sniggering, and Neville wished they wouldn't. He drew his wand, expecting the worst.

Ron was stood still, quivering with rage. Neville led him through to their office and sat him down in his chair. His expression suddenly flickered to an evil grin.

"No, Ron, you are _not_ going to go and curse him!"

"That wasn't the plan," the redhead grinned, "If he pushes me he'll regret it, but for now I'm simply enjoying the comfort of this chair."

Neville glared at his friend. "What have you done?"

"Fred gave me the recipe for his prank Incontinence Potion. Some of it found its way into Lord Jonathan of Stanley's mug."

The fact that Ron finally understood the meaning of subtlety was rather worrying.

The afternoon continued much as the morning had, punctuated only by the return of Harris. Neville had finished the reports by about half seven, only to see a pile Levitate in through the window. He sighed heavily, nodding as his colleagues left for the evening. About an hour later, Logan turned up and worked on her reports. Neville didn't want to go home and have to face the thought of Luna leaving, but it had to be done, so he packed up and headed home, bowing dramatically to his colleague as he left.

In a portent of her departure, it was raining by the time he got to their mountaintop home. He entered and dried himself quickly with a Warming Charm, and smiled when he noticed Luna rushing around from one corner of the house to another, gathering together everything she'd need for the trip. Neville prided himself on his capacity for observation and deduction – necessary for Aurors in the field – and after a glance around the room he noticed that the picture of him that usually sat on the mantelpiece had been packed, along with a good amount of Floo Powder. He also noticed the conflicting expressions on his girlfriend's face: a mixture of annoyance at having to leave, sadness for feeling like she was abandoning him, worry that he would think she'd cheat on him, but nonetheless a layer of excitement at a lifetime opportunity. Neville smiled. Most people didn't understand how Luna worked, but as soon as you got to know her, you may as well be a Legilimens.

"Hey you," she smiled in her hurry, rushing over to kiss him on the cheek before returning zealously to her task. He pulled his robes off and tossed them onto a coat rack, before heading to the kettle to make some tea.

"Please tell me you had a good day," Luna asked as she folded a pile of clothing with magic, "How many Death Munchers did you put behind bars?"

Neville sighed heavily, before replying, "Yeah, in my dreams. I got some time in at the firing range, and apparently the Hit Wizards are impressed at my performance. Though I heard they might send a bill here for the damage I caused."

"That's my Neville," she chuckled, "Having to prove his manliness by butchering some poor practice dummies. Anyway, I'm leaving at about one o' clock tomorrow afternoon, by the way."

"Yay, finally! I get to stay up late and eat pizza and never have to shower ever again!"

She poked him in the arm viciously with a fingernail, "You love me really."

He shrugged, and turned to walk away, "Sometimes I wonder if I do..."

Thankful for his trained reflexes, he leapt for cover behind a sofa to avoid the barrage of jinxes headed his way.

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**AN: **Oh muse, I know I have oft asked thy help in the past, but why do you not release me? Release me from the pain and torment of inspiration! Release me from the hold of the keyboard and wordplay! SET ME FREE!


	3. Up in Flames

_**PREVIOUSLY: **__Neville Longbottom lets out some steam on a firing range, destroying the room housing it. He tells Xan Harris that Luna is leaving for a trip across the world with Rolf Scamander, and that he doesn't feel worthy of her. He checks on Hermione, who is getting worse. Harris' best friend Cyan Swift drops by, and he regains some faith in the human race. It turns out that Luna feels bad for abandoning Neville, and they work out the issues._

**CHAPTER THREE: Up in Flames**

_This world, is up in flames,  
__For reasons unexplained,  
__People running round,  
__Trying to escape,  
__Up in Flames…__  
_

_Up in Flames__, Xavier Rudd_

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He woke her as he left, as per her request. They shared a long, sad kiss, and Neville was quickly out of the door, before he skipped work to snuggle her for all eternity, and not let her go. Of course, he had to promise not to get into trouble before she would let him pass the threshold, since she "wouldn't be there to clean up the mess".

When he got to work, Harris presented him with a form, and he sighed, until she waved it properly in front of his nose and he realised what it was. It was a form for two month's enforced sick leave for Ron, so that he could recover. It was about a year too late to be of any use, but Neville saw it as welcome news for the mental health of his friend.

When Ron turned up he was looking, actually, in rather good shape. When he was presented with the form, he was obviously weighing up the positive aspects of seeing his parents, and the negative point of having to tell them what had happened. Neville understood, and shrugged. His friend ended up spending that day at work anyway, and accepted the sick leave on the morrow.

Though that day's trials and tribulations were far from over. In the afternoon, there was a confrontation between Ron and Stanley, which was rather predictable. Stanley drew first blood, but Ron ended up terminating the encounter rather violently.

"'Sick leave', Weasley? Get over it, you pussy, it's not like she loved you anyway."

As the git turned and walked away, everything seemed in slow motion. Ron raised his wand arm and cast a Stopping Curse – a rather dark spell Neville had only ever seen Evan Rosier use – and the impact sent Stanley flying through the window of his office with a smash. And that's when he took a decision he would doubtlessly regret.

He drew his wand and prepared a Stopping Curse, cancelling it on the point of casting, so as to fool a Prior Incantation Spell into thinking he _had_ cast it, and whispered to Ron, "Go home. I've got this."

The redhead's eyes widened as he realised what he'd just done, taking a step back in shock – which was fortunately taken as a sign of innocence by the other occupants of the room – and five Stunning Spells hit Neville head on. The world faded to black almost instantly.

"_Enervate. _Get up, Longbottom."

Neville's eyes jerked open with the Revival Spell, and he glanced around the area. He was lying in a maximum security cell in the DMLE, where they kept only the most dangerous of criminals – though he internally doubted any Death Eaters had found themselves here. Had he wished to try, he'd find a touch-activated Pain Curse in effect on the bars and walls of the cell, along with a number of other Curses and Charms. His head felt wet, and he pulled a hand through his hair, unsurprised that it came up red.

"Now, I'm sure you know what you did to get here, so would you mind telling me _why_ you did it, _why_ you cast a dark curse on a superior officer?"

_Ah fuck_. It was the head of the Auror Division, Richard Benn. He had briefly been a member of the Order of the Phoenix; over his brief tenure as one of the fighters of the dark, he had been rather indifferent towards Neville, and the feeling was mutual. However now there was murder in his eyes, the bored ambivalence long gone in the shadow cast by the Stopping Curse.

Neville got to his feet calmly and slowly and looked at his commanding officer. "Well, sir, to turn a long story short, Stanley is an incompetent git who pays more attention to shagging women than to apprehending criminals and keeping the world safe."

He'd spoken a little too frankly, and it may have been a mistake.

But Benn's frown disappeared, and the Auror replied, "I'm glad to see you are observant as to his personality. However, that doesn't excuse your blatant disregard for the chain of command and rules of the country. The Stopping Curse is a very, very nasty spell that is illegal for a reason, and you know that full well. Well, should."

"With all due respect, sir, and in my defence, I'm finding it hard to handle my role as a glorified secretary when I see monsters like Fenrir Greyback and Evan Rosier escape prison without so much as a fine. They run free to go and kill some more, despite their criminal past, whilst a perfectly competent Auror sits around filling in his colleagues' paperwork. And then there's the fact that the actions of your deputy were endangering the competence of Auror Weasley, with no reason beyond gloating about a dubious incident. The Stopping Curse may have been over the top, but I dare say it was deserved."

The head of the Auror Division paced the corridor in front of the cell for a moment, before turning to look at Neville once again.

"I understand your points. My hands are tied here, though. You were found casting an illegal curse on an Auror, with five witnesses and Prior Incantation backing this up, Auror Weasley discounted since he's reluctant to testify against you. At best, you'll get fired and sentenced to a year in Azkaban. But this is the Wizengamot, and you know how they work..."

Neville swallowed, the direness of his situation hitting him. "I'll never see the sun again, will I?"

Benn didn't reply, just gave a sad look, before leaving in silence.

The prisoner sat on the wooden stool that was placed in the centre of the cell, and waited for something to happen. There wasn't much he could do, anyway. After what seemed like no time at all, footsteps echoed down the hall once again. To Neville's surprise, it was Stanley, walking past on his way to... where? The maximum security holding cell corridor was a dead-end. He blinked in confusion, and was even more perturbed to note that the Second Auror had disappeared.

He blinked again, repeatedly. He hadn't taken any hallucinatory drugs ever, to his recollection, and it was unheard of for madness to occur _before_ going to Azkaban. Rubbing his eyes, he sat down, noticing he was stood up. He heard once again the sound of footsteps. Benn had returned, a dark expression on his face.

"I heard the elite talking. They're suggesting the Kiss."

Of course they would. The so-called "elite" were the top ten or so members of the Wizengamot council, and had more than half of the votes under their control, through bribery, blackmail or murder. If they decided he'd have his soul sucked from his body, his soul would indeed be sucked from his body. He shuddered with the thought of such a horrible half-death. And his Luna had asked him not to get into any trouble...

"Now, Longbottom, I'm not sure how you managed to conceal a Time-Turner on your person despite a full body search, though the records will show that you checked one out of the Department of Mysteries only this morning," the Head Auror smirked at Neville, before adding, "I want to see those Death Eaters locked up, Longbottom, and I want to see them locked up _soon_."

He tossed Neville the Time-Turner, before turning his wand on himself, and casting a Memory Charm.

Huh.

_Here goes nothing._

Whilst Benn was in that state of dazed confusion that followed the use of the Memory Charm, Neville Longbottom hooped the chain over his head, turned the minute hourglass thrice, and disappeared from the cell.

**NLNLNLNLNLNLNLNLNLNLNLNLNL**

"Did you see what one of the Aurors did to the firing range yesterday?"

Neville found himself in the exact same cell, but three hours previously. Two Hit Wizards were talking, somewhere in the corridor.

He analysed the situation. It was about half past two that he "cast" the Stopping Curse, and had been in the cell for a good hour. _How long was I unconscious?_ Five Stunners of average power would have him out for two hours, but he was Revived by Benn, so he couldn't know. But he'd jumped back three hours, so logic said it was about one o' clock now. He tiptoed to the open gate of the cell and peered round the corner.

A clock on the wall told him it was half past two.  
_Shit?_

He must have been left for quite a while, after being quintuple-Stunned.

"Yeah, Longbottom, his name was. I was on duty at the time. Unreal, mate, it was something else."

So clearly the second Hit Wizard was Bevis – or Travis, or whatever. That was an interesting coincidence. Neville gritted his teeth and tried to think of a plan, since he couldn't stay in the cell much longer. The Aurors would soon drag his unconscious body here, and he couldn't afford to be spotted.

"Something else? _Something else_?! Understatement of the century, Timothy Jarvis!"

Ohhh, _Jarvis_ was his name then.

The door at the end of the corridor crashed open.

"Jarvis, Hill, you're needed for a hostage situation now. Get going, on the double!"

Neville frowned. He didn't recognise the voice. It was probably a Hit Wizard, but he had encountered most of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement at least once, and would recognise their voices. He waited for the footsteps to slip away before leaving the cell.

Now, he needed his wand, and he needed to get the hell out of there. His wand would probably be in the evidence lockers, located in this wing. He quickly but silently made his way up the corridor and opened the door.

The DMLE detention area was deserted. Neville thanked his lucky stars and headed down the hallway. First door on the left, Evidence Lockers.

Naturally, there was an Auror there stowing the wand in a specially-designed container. The Auror, who he recognised as Andrea Knopfler from the Hogwarts year below him, stared as the person she'd only just seen fall to five Stunners entered the room. She raised her wand very quickly, but Neville was faster. He stamped on her foot, using the forward momentum to snatch her wand from her hand and cast a silent Stunner. He caught her as she fell and lowered her into a chair, putting her wand on the worktop. Satisfied, he grabbed his own wand from the container and quickly glanced around the room.

Considering the lack of useful arrests by the Auror Division in the past few years, he suspected that the various items he was "borrowing" wouldn't be truly missed by the prosecutors. The first one he spotted was a pouch, which he clipped onto his belt. Then he spotted a rather rare trinket that would probably be _incredibly_ useful, so he pocketed it. On a whim, he cast an Immobility Curse on a rather strange animated object, shrunk it, and put it into his pocket – slipping out of the Ministry would likely be difficult, so he'd need every trick he could fit up his sleeves. Especially given that Disillusionment would be detected by the newer Wards added to the Ministry since the War.

He'd made it to the corridor leading to the Apparition Point when the problems began. A group of three Aurors were heading there for a mission, or somesuch. When he started hearing footsteps from behind him, Neville ducked into an alcove containing a door, and to his dismay realised that there were two more headed for the same Apparition Point.  
_Gimme a break._

The second group had passed him to meet up with the rest of their team by the door to the AP. Naturally, nothing went smoothly, and as such one of the Aurors turned around and spotted him.

"It's Longbottom! How'd he get out?"

These guys were a credit to their profession, and with supernatural reflexes each sent a spell his way within moments of the warning. Neville threw himself to the floor to avoid the barrage and swept his wand sideways, throwing three of his assailants backwards with a wave of energy. He turned the momentum from the fall into a roll, effortlessly pulling into a standing position. The two Aurors still standing, both witches, had conjured Shields just in time, and were preparing to head onto the offensive.

"_Dastarex_!"

If they were willing to use Bludgeoning Curses, then Neville sure as hell wouldn't be keeping the kid gloves on. He caught the Curse on the tip of his wand and spiralled it back towards its caster, whose shield collapsed under the force of the spell. Using the opportunity afforded by her lack of Shield, Neville nailed her in the chest with a Domination Curse, projecting her to the floor where she lay still, unconscious.

The three he'd removed from the fight earlier had pulled themselves together and were now preparing a textbook Michaels Manoeuvre: one concentrating on defence, whilst the others peppered the target with spells. However simple the strategy was, it could be devastating, particularly against one single opponent.

Of course, the time Neville had spent analysing his attackers had been well used by the isolated Auror, who threw an unformed mass of fire at him. He twirled his wand, scooping the flames into a mesmerising spiral of immolation, before draining the energy from the spell and turning it into a Flameshot Curse. The witch was smashed into the wall by the torrent of fire, throwing up a Flame-Freezing Charm just quick enough to avoid being frazzled.

Now their defences were prepared, two of the Aurors had started tossing Stunner after Stunner towards Neville, who ducked left and grabbed the pouch from his belt, lobbing it at his assailants. A spell hit it in mid-air, tearing it apart and releasing a cloud of black powder.

The corridor was composed of utter blackness, truer than the darkest of nights in the deepest of dungeons. Neville, lucky to be out of the range of the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, took the time to check himself over for injuries.

"_Lumos. Lumos_! Damnit, what the fuck is this?"

"_Lumos Solem_! How do we dispel it?"

Neville chuckled quietly at their cluelessness.

"Cast that way!"

Then scampered back to avoid the Stunning Curses being cast wildly at him by four temporarily blinded Aurors. As he raised a Reflection Shield Charm, the black void disappeared, revealing his opponents. One had been Stunned in the blind-firing, leaving three of them. And they clearly weren't clever enough to revive their allies. Neville was glad he didn't personally know any of them, as he'd have been ashamed of their combat stupidity. They weren't slow, though.

A burst of Blasting, Stunning and Immobility Curses came his way, and he deftly blocked the few that his Shield didn't reflect. Another fell to his own Stunner, and Neville twisted his body to hurl a Domination Curse, which took out a second, but left him open to the Disarming Hex that pathetically plucked the wand from his hand.

"Not so confident now, eh Longbottom?" the smarmy Auror sniggered. The amateur clearly thought that he had Neville beat, now that he was wandless. He could afford to toy with the "victor", couldn't he?

"I am, actually. Might I ask your name?"

"Lloyd. Thomas Lloyd. Been an Auror for six years now, and you thought you could beat me..."

"Well, Lloyd, I still think I do. Just because you have my wand, doesn't mean you've won."

Lloyd laughed a deep and rich laugh. "You're hilarious, y'know, Longbottom. You still have a Shield, but you don't have a weapon. How can you beat me?"

Neville drew the shrunken, Immobilised object from his pocket and tossed it at Lloyd, wandlessly removing one of the spells he'd placed on it, causing it to regain its former size.

Lloyd caught the teapot effortlessly in his left hand, his right hand still training the wand on his "captive".

"A teapot, Longbottom?"

Neville then removed the Immobility Curse. The teapot, which had been enchanted by a wizard wanting to torment a Muggle, leapt at Lloyd's face, biting his nose with the teeth it had suddenly grown from a gaping mouth-shaped space on its side. The Auror yelped with pain and surprise, whilst Neville grabbed his wand from the ground and Stunned him, before reducing the teapot to dust so it didn't cause any serious damage whilst Lloyd "slept". A series of loud cracks startled him, and he realised he had no chance of using the Apparition Point. He ran to the door in the alcove he'd taken cover in, and burst through the door.

He found himself in a disused office-like room, with a door at the other end and some dusty desks lined up against a side wall. He sealed the door with a spell, before Transfiguring the floor so it was higher than the bottom of the door, making it impossible to open. The inevitable shouts and alarms, followed by banging on the door, soon followed. Neville headed straight to the door on the other side, and spotted a small sign hung next to it.  
_Emergency Exit to London Underground, Lancaster Gate_

The normal-looking door was, predictably locked. Even worse was the fact it wouldn't budge for all his fancy spellwork. He even tried disintegrating the damn thing, only for the spell to come ricocheting back towards him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the last of the things he'd found in the Evidence room.

A skeleton key, a rare item reputed to unlock _any_ lock, magical or Muggle. It was a thin sliver of bone, with one end carved into a skull shape. He inserted it into the lock, and the door dematerialised, taking the key with it.

Neville was sure that wasn't supposed to happen, but didn't question the logic as he stepped through the doorway into a service tunnel. The doorway behind him vanished, leaving nothing but a blank, concrete wall, lit by the dim shine of sodium lamps.

He removed his robes and shrinking them, leaving him in tracksuit trousers and long-sleeved t-shirt. It was a precaution worth taking when there was a chance of encountering Muggles. In fact, even simpler, he Disillusioned himself to be sure. After a short walk down the tunnel, he emerged in the Lancaster Gate Underground station, which was practically deserted. To further trick his potential pursuers, he hopped on the mercifully empty train, only getting off nine stops later at Liverpool Street, before daring to Apparate away.

After inserting the customary three stops, which he decided to boost up to six, he arrived at his final destination, a small room deep underground somewhere in the middle of the Peak District. Mad-Eye Moody had once taken him here, and it was protected by a multitude of Wards, including the Fidelius, designed intentionally to be the most secure hideout possible. In fact, Neville liked to think it was the _perfect_ hideout, since he was responsible for pretty much half of the Wards covering it.

The decoration was sparse, a Chudley Cannons poster on one wall, and a map of the British Isles covered in scribbles and pins on another, next to a clock and self-updating calendar. There were some shelves lined with clothing of various sorts, another set of shelves stacked with piles of tinned food, a magical stove sat nearby next to a Muggle hob – in case it was needed by someone with a Traceable wand. A few pans and bowls, and cutlery, were piled on a draining board next to a sink. A square table and four chairs There was an alcove with a wicker screen to offer privacy for a toilet and shower. In another corner there was a cabinet containing potions ready-made for any occasion, from Burn Salve to Polyjuice Potion, even a small amount of Felix Felicis labelled _Last Resort_, with a safe next to it filled with Galleons and pounds. Last but not least, in the corner there was a king-size bed, already fitted with clean sheets, the cupboard next to it containing sleeping bags and quilts aplenty. It was a true hidden fortress in case of siege. Or "extended sick-leave", in this case.

Neville slumped on to the bed and sighed heavily. _Now what...?_

**NLNLNLNLNLNLNLNLNLNLNLNLNL**

**AN: **So, Neville on the run. What will happen next? Don't ask me. I didn't come up with this plot, I just write it.

Yes, Knopfler and Benn are references to two people I admire.

Spotted a few errors in Chapter 1, corrected them in my computer's version but will probably forget to update the uploaded version. Oops :)


	4. Devil Running

_**WARNING:**__ this chapter gets very gory towards the end, and it occurred to me whilst writing that some people might not want to see such gory depictions. I'll flag the section up, and you can read a brief, less-graphic summary as per usual in the Previously section next chapter._

_**PREVIOUSLY: **__Luna leaves to go travelling. Ron finally gets some sick leave to recover from his addictions and depression, but ends up hitting Jonathan Stanley with a dark curse. Neville manages to take the blame, and is locked up, where he thinks he's going mad. The head of the Auror Division, Richard Benn, informs him he might get the Dementor's Kiss, and helps him break out with a Time-Turner. With some creative applications of seemingly innocent objects, he defeats five Aurors, then escapes through the London Underground, before hiding in a safehouse left over from the War._

**CHAPTER FOUR: Devil Running**

_And now it's time, not just to,  
__Watch like old lady gettin' handbag stolen,  
__It's time to chase, chase them criminals,  
__I see the devil and the devil is running...__  
_

_Devil Running__, John Butler Trio_

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The first thing Neville did when he woke up was write a list.

Not a big or important list, merely a job list of things to do. This practice of listing tasks made being a fugitive a hell of a lot easier, as he had learnt during the War. He'd conjured parchment and quill, and was busy scribbling.

_Tell Luna_

_Check on Ron_

_Set house into away mode_

_Get newspapers_

_Kill Stanley_

_Hunt evil wizards_

Satisfied with the list, he wrote a letter to Luna, explaining briefly the situation, and asking her not to worry, and just keep on with her research trip. Sealing it in an envelope, which he Charmed to open only on receiving her passcode, he then changed clothes, grabbing a rather standard set of robes from the shelves, and picking up some Wizarding coins from the safe built into the wall, and an empty briefcase. His final action was to grab a vial of Polyjuice Potion, before Apparating home to Merrick – via Hull, East Barnet and Ben Nevis.

Once there, Neville checked the Wards to see if anyone had entered or attempted to since the day before. Nope. He took a moment to analyse once again what he'd done previously, then took about an hour layering on some additional Wards – the few that had a lot of useful effects but made it almost impossible to have a life, such as one that prevented anyone carrying a wand from entering the area, and one that turned the house invisible, and a reversed Containment Ward to prevent _everyone_ from entering.

He tied the net of Wards to the eight wardstones buried around the property, and cemented them with a thought, fixing the mesh in place. He sighed heavily, and sat down on a rock, taking a breather from the heavy magic. The wardstones made the whole process much more powerful, and much easier, but if anyone walked by in the next twenty or so minutes they could Stun Neville without him even responding.

His hand shaking, he crossed out _Set house into away mode_ on his list, then lay on the flat rock and closed his eyes for a spell, listening to the slight whoosh of the wind on the mountaintop.

Neville set off once again, this time back to Hull, and acquired some strands of hair from a passing Muggle student using a Summoning Charm. The Polyjuice Potion tasted strongly of alcohol and tobacco, with a hint of raspberries, and Neville found himself a few inches shorter and looking nothing like the only surviving member of the Longbottom family.

He stopped by the International Owler office in Hogsmeade to send the letter to Luna, before picking up copies of the Daily Prophet and Quibbler in Diagon Alley, shunning the other papers on the newsagent stand – most were magazines anyway – and headed to a café to get a cup of coffee and read. He first read the Daily Prophet: the huge headline was "_Rebel Auror on the Run_", but the text for it was on a different page. He flicked through, eventually finding the article about him in a tiny section in the middle of page 35, after the double page spread of a scantily-clad witch who looked uncannily like Hannah Abbott.

_REBEL AUROR ON THE RUN_

_By Jacob Hallwell_

_Yesterday evening saw Assault Auror Neville Longbottom assault his superior officer, Second Auror Jonathan Stanley. He escaped from custody using a dark Curse, and disregarding the chain of command. The Wizengamot urges citizens to take extreme caution if they encounter this dangerous criminal, and to alert the Department of Magical Law Enforcement immediately. Second Auror Stanley has recovered from the attack, and reminds the public _not _to try and subdue Auror Longbottom, for their own safety._

Neville sighed as he tossed the paper to a nearby table. It wasn't going to be of much more use to him, so he may as well pass it on. He picked up the Quibbler and glanced at the front page: he was mentioned on the bottom half, and quite favourably too, it seemed. Then again, it was unsurprising, since he was in Xenophilius Lovegood's good books.

_AUROR ACCUSED OF ASSAULT_

_By Johanna Jackson_

_This morning the Daily Prophet published an article on the actions of one Auror Neville Longbottom. Where our competitors enjoy sensationalism, we wish to explain events and take the official Ministerial statements with a pinch of salt._

_According to the Ministry, yesterday afternoon Auror Longbottom cast a dark curse on a superior officer, unprovoked, and was detained; after which he somehow managed to escape from one of the most secure cells in the entire Ministry of Magic._

_We at the Quibbler would like to remind our readers that Auror Longbottom is considered one of the most important actors in bringing about the fall of the Dark Lord. For the benefit of those unaware of events and Auror Longbottom's role, we have republished a short version of the official Ministerial statement concerning the events of the War on pages 3 and 4._

_I write now as a person, and not as a reporter: from my experience of Neville Longbottom at Hogwarts, and during the War itself, he shunned violence unless absolutely necessary. It is my sincerest belief that either the charge of casting a dark Curse has been pinned on him, or it was deserved. I'd like to use this moment to draw attention to the fact that Evan Rosier, among others, escaped Azkaban last week despite proven guilt in over a hundred cases of murder and torture (details of unprosecuted Death Eaters on page 4). If such a miscarriage of justice can leave a monster like Rosier uncastigated, then the system can only be capable of unjustly punishing a hero._

_If Neville Longbottom is reading this, we at the Quibbler wish him the best of luck in proving his undeniable innocence._

Neville blinked as he tried to think of who Johanna Jackson was, before remembering her as being from the year above him, in Slytherin. They'd probably met in Dumbledore's Army, or during some battle or other. He made a mental note to buy her a drink sometime. Hell, no, buy the whole Quibbler staff a drink.

He pulled his job list out once more.

_Tell Luna_

_Check on Ron_

_Set house into away mode_

_Get newspapers_

_Kill Stanley_

_Hunt evil wizards_

The last item would have to wait until a warrant came through his pile of paperwork. Except that...

Now he was technically a fugitive, he was no longer an Auror, and therefore no longer subject to his piles of paperwork, which meant that he could walk into a Death Eater's house, rough them up a bit, then have them Portkeyed to the holding cells in the Ministry. Then again, that probably wouldn't do anything. They'd get released by their Wizengamot buddies. He found himself with his hands tied, yet again.

He Apparated to the Burrow, and made himself appear businesslike. Until he got inside the beautifully-designed Ward system constructed by Bill Weasley, any passing nutter or Ministry watcher could overhear their conversations.

Since the Burrow's destruction during the War, Harry had given the entire contents of his vault to the Weasleys so that they could rebuild it. They'd initially refused, until Harry had shown them the money yet to be paid in from international bounties placed on Voldemort. That wasn't to say they hadn't been reluctant, but when Harry possessed about a tenth of the international Wizarding community's wealth, what he'd had previous was nothing.

Now, the new Burrow stood tall, over six floors, and looking just as ramshackle and rickety as before, but with a good deal more surprises. It was now virtually indestructible, having been warded by one of the greatest, Bill Weasley, in collaboration with Harry, Neville and Hermione. Together, they'd even managed to create an immensely powerful Anti-Dementor Ward from scratch, which burned the dark creatures to a crisp within a kilometre of the house. Neville particularly liked the one that, in a hundred metre radius of the house, turned all Dark Marks into Portkeys to the heart of a volcano buried deep in the soil of Brittany.

Neville strode up and knocked on the door, briefcase in hand, deciding on a character.

Arthur opened it with a smile, as per usual. "Hello?"

"Mr. Weasley?" Neville asked in a perfectly neutral voice, sounding much like the stereotype of a boring accountant.

He was pleased to note that Arthur's wand was in hand, in case he was threat. "Yes, I am Arthur Weasley..."

"Perfect! My name is Leonard Tolipan," they shook hands and 'Leonard' continued, "I'm here about that Muggle tin opener you ordered. I'm sorry to say that it-

"Pardon? Tin opener?"

"Why yes, Mr. Weasley, you ordered a Muggle device from me three days ago, and I came personally to apologise for the late acquisition."

"I think you must be mistaken, I don't recall ordering anything from you..." Arthur looked confused, and Neville had to hold back the laughter that was threatening to give the game away

"Did you not? Give me a moment," Neville pulled his task list from his pocket, and pretended to read it, "Ohhh, my apologies Mr. Weasley, the order was from an Archie Schneebly. Silly me, eh? Well, sorry for wasting your time. Keep in touch if you ever want some Muggle tools or devices, alright?" he finished with a wink, putting the paper away and turning to leave. He'd taken three steps already, it seemed like the plan was going to fail.

"Wait, Mr. Tolipan, do you have a minute? I'd be rather interested in some Muggle tools for my shed, and I just put the kettle on..."

Neville grinned, and turned. "Well, I suppose I can delay going to see Mr. Schneebly."

Arthur guided him into the kitchen and shut the door, at which point Neville turned to him and said, "Arthur, it's Neville, Polyjuiced as a Muggle. Ask me a security question."

Arthur span on the spot, wand aimed right at him, reflexes belying his capabilities that were not lost as the War ended. "Three years, always and always." The look on his face was deadly serious, filled with grief and anger.

Neville choked on his answer, "G-Ginevra Molly Weasley."

The wand was lowered and the two shared a hug, before pulling apart. "What was with the masquerade, Neville? Why Polyjuice?"

"I didn't know if you were being watched. You read the news today?"

Arthur shook his head. "Our Quibbler hasn't got here yet. What's happened?"

"I'm on the run. I was scheduled to get the Dementor's Kiss and I didn't really like the idea of that," Neville chuckled despite himself.

The Weasley elder sighed, "What did you do to get that sentence?"

"One of my colleagues was being a git, Ron cursed him, and I thought he had more to lose than I did so I covered for him. Has he come by, yet?"

"Cursed?!" Arthur took a pause, then answered, "No, he said he'd come for lunch, saying he had sick leave and was planning on shaping up. What's been going on with him, Neville? He hadn't sent an owl in months, let alone visited..."

Neville swallowed. He wasn't sure it was his place to say it, but it had to be said. "He broke up with Hermione a year or so ago, and they've both been in a spiral of depression since then."

He swore he heard the sound of Arthur's jaw dropping. "They b... broke up?"

"Ron saw Hermione getting... intimate... with a colleague, who hasn't ceased to torment him with this, which has inevitably led to the current situation of Ron hitting him with a Stopping Curse."

Arthur shuddered, then stared into space with a puzzled expression. "Doesn't sound like Hermione to me."

Neville shook his head. "I'm guessing Polyjuice, because she vehemently denied it a year ago, and is in as bad a state as Ron," he paused, "It's been horrible, watching two of my best friends' lives fall apart, and not being able to do anything about it. And now I have conflicting feelings: should I be sad that I've lost my job and my freedom, or happy that now I can go and hunt down the Death Eaters that escaped the proverbial noose due to my being stuck on paperwork?"

"Nah," Arthur shook his head, "Leaving the Ministry was the best thing I ever did. It's dominated by the Pureblood supremacists, and it'd take nothing short of a revolution for a truly good power structure to take its place. Hey, even the War didn't help change attitudes, so I think it's rather hopeless."

"Well, whatever the case, I'm going to need to head on, or else potential watchers will get suspicious," Neville said, sipping some more Polyjuice potion from the vial he'd kept, in order to keep the enchantment active, "Say hi to Molly from me, and to Ron and... tell Ron not to feel sorry for me taking responsibility for the Curse, so long as _he_ takes responsibility for his _life_."

Arthur nodded, "Keep us up to date, ok?"

"I'll send you encrypted letters. Password is 'Mouldymort'."

"Alright," the older wizard said, opening the door, "I'll be sure to owl you if I want anything. I must admit to being seriously tempted by that screwdiver."

'Leonard Tolipan' grinned back, "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Weasley. Now if you'll excuse me, I should get going to Mr. Schneebly. Have a nice day!"

"You too, Mr. Tolipan."

Neville Apparated away to Hogsmeade, then Glasgow, then back to Diagon Alley.

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Sat in Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, Neville was perplexed. How did one go about hunting Dark wizards?

He scooped a spoonful of toffee sundae into his mouth, savouring the salty, buttery sweetness. Sitting in Diagon Alley probably wasn't a very safe thing to do, as a fugitive, but he _needed_ the ice cream. And there wasn't much else he could do, anyway: a year of paperwork had meant that he was out of practice as an investigative Auror. For all intents and purposes he was just a Hit Wizard. A good duellist, but a poor detective. Now he was reduced to hoping that a Death Eater would come prancing down the street or something.

Lo and behold, none other than Roderick Gibbon, strolling down Diagon Alley as if he owned the place. Neville had always thought him a moron: whenever he had been mentioned in Snape's intel during meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, it was always him being tortured by Voldemort for being incompetent. Neville finished the last bit of ice cream, and got up, having already paid. Gibbon's ignorant sauntering meant that he didn't notice he was being shadowed into Knockturn Alley. Once he was sure no-one was watching, Neville Disillusioned himself so as to be stealthier. Gibbon was approaching Borgin and Burkes', but to his follower's curiosity, he went beyond.

The Death Eater knocked on a door. After a moment, the door was opened, and he was let inside, the door shutting and locking behind him. Neville frowned, and pulled out his wand, casting a Spiderfoot Charm on his feet. His trainers now rather more adhesive than the norm, he easily scaled the side of the building and slipped inside through an open window.

The building, which had once been a four-floor set of apartments, had been smashed through. There was a ledge around the edges of each wall where there had once been a flat. Now, the only floor was the ground floor, about six metres down from the ledge upon which Neville was perched.

In the centre of the giant room was a circle of about a dozen chairs, and to the side a table stacked with cakes and drinks. The lighting was dim, the decorations dark and moody. Had he come to a meeting for Angsty Teenager Anonymous or something?

Seven chairs were occupied. Neville dimly recognised two of their occupants as being low-down Death Eaters, though he couldn't name them. Gibbon joined the group, making it eight. He noted that one of the members was hooded, and therefore unidentifiable. Out of the seven visible people, only one was a woman.

"Roderick! Glad you could join us!" the woman smiled.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world, Portia," Gibbon replied, "Does anyone mind if I grab something to eat? I'm starved."

Portia nodded, and the rest of the group gave varying responses of assent. Gibbon served himself some cake onto a fancily decorated plate, and sat down with the others.

"Now, my good friends, welcome to the fourth mee-"

"Sorry to cut in, Beef, but do you mind skipping the rhetoric? I'm on a tight schedule."

The man named Beef sighed, and replied, "Alright then Lucas, let's get on with it. How're the plans for the dinner party, Portia?"

Neville was confused. So far, this meeting didn't look all that bad.

Portia stood. "It will take place at my manor. We've decided on the classic theme," nods of approval, "but we have yet to come to a conclusion as to whether couples are encouraged or enforced."

Now he was _really_ confused. What, was Gibbon now a reformed, smiley, cute bunny rabbit?

Lucas slipped in a question. "Have you chosen the Muggles we're going to be torturing yet, or are you going to pick them at the last minute?"

Oh. Well that was a refreshingly direct admission of being a Death Eater.

**- VIOLENCE WARNING: YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. TWICE. -**

"Ah, yes, I decided on a couple of young teens in a village not far from de Tolbert Manor. Girls, so that the less... satisfied... of you men can enjoy the evening as much as possible.

Neville wanted to jump down there and give them all the beating they well and truly deserved. But there might have been extra information available, and if he wanted to go after the bigger fish he needed to listen to any clue they might give.

"Excuse me," the hooded figure cut in, with a male voice, "But is Gibbon alright?"

He actually hadn't paid much attention. Gibbon's plate of cake had slid onto the floor, the Death Eater leaning back in his chair, his mouth frothing and a blank look in his eyes.

"Shit, he's been poisoned!" Portia shouted, "Have any of you eaten any cake?!"

Everyone shook their heads except one of the two Neville had recognised. Who was also rather dead-looking.

"Damnit!" Beef yelled, "Kim!"

The hooded figure stood, and drew a wand, "Like a cancerous growth on Wizarding Britain, still you remain, and still you choose to torture and maim without a worry in the world. Like a localised poison, I am here to destroy you and remake this world as it should be."

The five remaining occupants of the room were stunned, save Beef, who raised his wand to throw a Killing Curse at the hooded figure, who simply sidestepped it as if it were inconsequential.

Neville struggled to follow what happened next. In the space of about ten seconds, Beef had been splattered over the wall, more liquid than solid; Lucas' lungs were lying, disconnected, next to his otherwise unharmed lifeless corpse; another Death Eater had been vaporised in a torrent of flame; and Portia had been pinned to the wall with four pointed shards of metal through her wrists and feet. The screams were intolerable, and tore at Neville's ear drums like no other sound could.

He had never seen anyone toss such deadly spells around with such quick, emotionless precision – save Voldemort.

The other remaining Death Eater started spinning to Disapparate, and succeeded, but not before the Severing Curse hit. His body disappeared, en route to wherever the destination was, whilst his lifeless head remained, dropping to the floor in a spatter of blood.

Portia, from where she was pinned to the wall, fainted from blood loss. The hooded figure strode up to her and raised his wand.

"_Crucio_."

The witch's eyes shot open, her screams echoing around the open space. Neville could feel the agony from where he was perched, paralysed in shocked fascination.

"Funny how you all seem to like causing pain and death, but are surprised to find karma turning the tables."

"I'm... s... sorry..."

"You'll never be sorry enough for what your kind has done to this land."

His Piercing Curse shot through her chest, painting her all over the wall from which she hung in a scarlet splash. She stared, her eyes wide, before choking up blood.

It took all of a minute for her to finally die. The figure raised his wand, using the blood to inscribe ominous words on the wall, before turning to leave.

_Death Eaters: the Ministry may call you innocent, but I _know_ you. You cannot escape karma._

Neville shuddered as he gazed at the carnage. He had got used to violent scenes during the War, but this was another level of disconnected death and violence. He shuddered again, oddly thankful for the prior experience, as he was able to keep his lunch down.

The figure turned to stare straight at him. Despite the Disillusionment, Neville was unnerved by the stare, particularly by the fact he couldn't see the eyes. It was as if he weren't even invisible.

"Neville Longbottom. Leave now, before the Ministry arrives gets here and pins this on you, and before you test my patience."

As he Disapparated silently, Neville tried to understand how he had been recognised, Disillusioned _and_ Polyjuiced as he was. He spent a moment wondering what had just happened. The door being broken down drew him from his reverie, and he quickly Disapparated away from the scene of wanton, but just, destruction.

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**AN: **Blood, guts and gore. It is currently 2:45 AM, and I should stop writing, or else I'll never be up in time for my exam tomorrow morning... er, _this_ morning. Ack.

As a side note, thanks to anyone I've stolen things from: I reuse so many peoples' ideas I'm no longer sure which are my own. Though I guess that you can't really complain about me stealing from you, since technically _all_ of this was stolen from Lady Rowling in the first place. I guess that's why we have disclaimers at the top of almost every fanfic. Is there any point me disclaiming that I should disclaim other peoples' disclaimers? Disclaimerception.


	5. Shadow Play

_**PREVIOUSLY: **__Neville Longbottom sent a letter to Luna, got Polyjuice Potion and reinforced the Wards around his and Luna's house on the Merrick. The Daily Prophet calls him evil, whilst the Quibbler supports him. He went to the Burrow, disguised as a salesman, and got into contact with Arthur Weasley, who was unaware of Ron and Hermione Weasley's rift._

_Neville came across Roderick Gibbon, who was going to Knockturn Alley for a Death Eater gathering. But a hooded figure came and massacred them in a rather dark and bloody manner, before recognising Neville despite Polyjuice and Disillusionment..._

**CHAPTER FIVE: Shadow Play**

_Sounds come crashing, and I hear laughing,  
__All those lights just fade away,  
__I feel a little strange inside,  
__A little Dr. Jekyll, a little Mr Hyde...__  
_

_Shadow Play__, Rory Gallagher_

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Lists were important, but charts were more so. And this was why Neville was spending his evening making a chart on a huge piece of cardboard, on the wall, using Muggle marker pens – quills just didn't work for that kind of scale, unless he'd used a griffin feather. And he wanted to be able to lift the quill with one hand, so marker pens would have to do.

Linking events as they had happened thus far, linking the names of various actors with lines or arrows, along with some temporary names, such as _hooded killer_, along with short sentences explaining the link, such as _splattered_ for the killer's link with Gibbon, or _helped_ for Benn's link to him. After an hour or so, he had a rather fancy and clean chart displaying what he'd worked out.

Underneath, he made a list of incontestable statements, with spaces in between.

_Free DEs: Yaxley, __Gibbon__, Dolohov, Avery, Macnair, Rosier,_

_Ron saw Hermione shagging Stanley. Hermione denies._

_Hooded killer massacred DE reunion._

That was all he could think of for now. He then swapped colour from black to blue, and began writing interpretations. He skipped the first, though, and chewed the marker pen lid a bit before writing.

_Ron saw Hermione shagging Stanley. Hermione denies._

_Polyjuice? Imperius and Memory Charm?_

_Paranoia says someone was trying to break them up._

_Who hates Ron and Hermione?_

Neville glanced up at the chart, Vanishing the link between Hermione and Stanley, replacing it with dotted lines, and adding another actor, _Impersonator?_, and linking it with dotted lines labelled _polyjuiced?_ to Hermione and _shagged?_ to Stanley.

He then looked again at his third assertion, pondering it for a moment, before arming himself with the blue pen once again.

_Hooded killer massacred DE reunion._

_1, knew me_

_2, recognised me despite Polyjuice AND Disillusionment_

_3, WHAT THE HELL?!_

_Moody's eye? doubt it can see thru PJ_

_Description: bloke_

Huh.

Neville had absolutely no idea who it was, and all he knew was that he was male. He knew of quite a few people that were morally capable of such a massacre, but they'd all be _helping_ the Death Eaters instead of killing them. Ignoring that, out of those people even less would recognise him, and out of _that _minority, _none _of them would leave him alive. There was another player in the game, one who'd done his homework, and one who was taking pains to remain unknown. And who was slowly butchering his way through the Death Eaters.

He pulled a hand through his hair and sighed heavily. He needed to go out and get information, and fast. To the side of the list of true statements, he began a new list – never let it be said that Neville was unorganised.

_Information sources_

_Borgin and Burke's – DE activity_

_Auror Division – murder scene_

_Slophouse? – rumours_

_Hog's Head? – rumours_

_Harris?_

_Ron?_

_Alex/Mandy?_

What he was looking for would be rumours of Death Eaters in the area and their activities, or any clue as to the hooded killer. Getting information in Borgin and Burke's shop would be easy: disguise himself, and muscle in with death threats. For the Slophouse and Hog's Head, it was simply a matter of walking in and offering cash. Harris and Ron were probably going to know as much as, if not less than, the records in the Auror Division, which was probably going to be impossible to get into. Well, not _impossible_ per se, but relatively difficult. Mandy's husband might have some useful information, knowing him and his tendency for knowing more about a given situation than anyone else. Visiting the scene of the deaths might also be quite a good idea, at least to overhear the investigating Aurors' thoughts.

Priorities then: check the scene first, then try out the shop and pubs, and head to Mandy's last. The sun was only just setting, so Neville had well enough time to visit Knockturn Alley and Hogsmeade.

He straightened his robes, checked his hipflask of Polyjuice, and clipped a dagger to his belt as a backup – until he could recover his second wand from his desk in the Auror Division. Before heading to Knockturn Alley, he stopped off at an open-mic night at a pub in Dublin to steal some hairs from a middle-aged saxophonist. Another thing Neville had learned from Alastor Moody was to switch personalities and appearances _repeatedly_, at least once per errand, if not more often than that. And this was a practice he was well willing to keep up. He made sure to wear a hood to hide his face, before Apparating off on his latest quest.

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"Mister Borgin."

Pyrrhus Borgin knew from the moment the hooded figure addressed him that he was in for trouble. In fact, as soon as he'd entered, the old man had sent Nathalie, his business partner's granddaughter, off on an errand. At the time, his visitor had nodded, recognising the kind gesture for what it was: keeping her out of harm's way. The number of people who had Borgin on their blacklist was enormous, and he was well used to people muscling him around. But he had some tricks up his sleeve. His shop was designed with defence in mind, a great many nasty artefacts hidden in the shelves and cupboards ready to be Summoned or activated, and he preferred that Nathalie not know how nasty Borgin could be in a brawl. She had a high opinion of "Uncle Pyrrhus", and he didn't want to ruin that image.

"Good evening, sir. How may I help you?"

"I need information, I need an object, and I need discretion. I can pay for all three."

"Everything has its price, my good man, and everything can be obtained," Borgin grinned.

"What do you know of Evan Rosier?"

Borgin actually didn't know a lot. Rosier was a very... elusive man, and other than his bloodthirsty tendencies, very little was known about him. Borgin prized himself on his street knowledge but he knew next to nothing about the Death Eater. But he did know a few details. He stretched out his hand, as if to accept payment.

The hooded figure reached into his robes and pulled out a very small cloth bag, which he handed to Borgin, who was puzzled as to the contents.

He opened it to see a beautifully designed necklace, a simple chain that came together in a sort of silver leaf-shaped clasp set with a pale green, faintly glowing jewel. The old wizard recognised it instantly as a rather old Welsh artefact, about two thousand or so years old, that would draw magical energy from surrounding plants. It was the prized tool for a druid: wearing it in a forest, the magical energies would make the weakest wizard into a pretty much unstoppable sorcerer. It was a truly priceless item.

Borgin gaped a bit at the amazing artefact, before remembering his side of the deal. He nodded to his visitor, and began, "He currently spends a large portion of his time with Antonin Dolohov. I don't know where he lives but it's not in Diagon, Knockturn, or Hogsmeade. Rumors abound that Dolohov now occupies the old Dent manor in Kensington, but I haven't been able to verify. I suspect that Rosier has had correspondence with Roderick Gibbon, who now is part of an ex-Death Eater group that are trying to revive the movement and failing..." Borgin paused, before continuing, "... and I do not have much more information of value, save that Rosier, Dolohov and their other colleagues are attempting to fit into society unnoticed, despite their violent pasts."

The figure nodded, and the old wizard let out a breath he couldn't remember holding.

"Thank you, Mr. Borgin. Now, if it's not too much trouble, I'd like to know who you are referring to by 'other colleagues'. Payment is not a problem."

Borgin shook his head, "The previous payment was well more than necessary, sir. The few Death Eaters who escaped death in the War _and_ Askaban are Evan Rosier, Antonin Dolohov, Roderick Gibbon – though I'm sure you were well aware of those – along with Walden Macnair, William Avery, Theon Yaxley, Orion Mulciber, Albert Runcorn, Fenella Lister and Portia de Tolbert. I am quite sure of that list, and if there are any missing I'll be happy to admit being wrong."

The figure left a brief silence, before asking, "Are you sure about Fenella Lister? I heard rumours of her death."

"Not as far as I've heard, though I must confess to that I believe her to be an Auror in disguise."

"Information begets information, so I shall tell you the truth, Mr. Borgin: you are correct about her disguise, but she is far too competent to be an Auror," the figure sniggered, "Do the names Brian Montego, Charles London and Jack Green ring any bells?"

Borgin nodded, "I've heard of their rise to power in the United States and subsequent defeat at the hands of a dark wizard hunter. What of them?"

"Hunt_ress_, Mr. Borgin, dark wizard hunt_ress_."

The old man nodded in understanding. That explained a lot about Lister. He was about to open his mouth when he heard a rattle.

The hooded figure turned, wand in hand, to one of the cupboards in the room, which opened to reveal a similarly hooded figure who also clutched a wand. The two stared at each other, and Borgin leapt for cover as the first spells went flying.

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He hadn't expected the hooded figure to be there before him, asking questions, so he'd hidden in the cupboard before they noticed his presence. Handily enough, he was asking the same questions that Neville would have asked.

Neville stifled a curse as a rat bit his foot. Reflexively he kicked the door of the cupboard in which he was hiding, then drew his wand. The hooded figure had set up an Anti-Disapparition Ward as soon as he'd entered the shop, and he couldn't risk trying to dispel it without alerting his presence, so he was going to have to fight his way out.

The door suddenly opened, and Neville blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light. Borgin threw himself behind the counter as the first spells were cast.

Neville opened with a Stunner aimed right at the hooded figure, who swiftly bent out of the way and flicked about half a dozen different hexes at him. The Auror recognised all of them as non-lethal, and threw up a Shield Charm to block them, before replying with a volley of Stunners. His opponent swirled to catch three of them with a single movement and throw them back, condensed into a powerful red bolt sizzling with turquoise sparks.

He dove to the floor as the turquoise sparks tore his Shield to shreds, the triple Stunner lighting something at the back of the room on fire. With a grunt, he unleashed the most powerful Foehammer he could manage, throwing his foe backwards into the displays with a terrible crash.

As though the potentially lethal Foehammer had given him the licence to duel properly, the hooded figure rose to his feet gracefully, and sent a torrent of fire whirling at Neville. An upsurge of water pushed the flames back, but they were spreading, and he had to throw himself sideways to avoid the Severing Curse that had been obscured by the Flameshot Curse. He was starting to wish he hadn't used the Foehammer, for the duel was now working in his opponent's favour.

The shop was now in flames, and Borgin had noticed, gathering the most valuable items and attempting to leave. The beams supporting the ceiling collapsed, and the main door was blocked off. He was forced into cover once again to avoid a flurry of rather dark curses. The hooded figure was seamlessly melding defence and offence, throwing dark spells and curses whilst simultaneously and effortlessly blocking, deflecting or returning everything Neville could cast. The speed at which he was throwing curses was taxing the Auror's considerable skill, which only further proved the competence of his foe.

"Shit!" Neville yelled as a Bonebreaker smashed apart his left hand, the fragments of bone jolting around in a spike of pain. He needed to escape, and quickly, or he'd end up as toast. His opponent was infinitely better than him, and it was only a matter of time until something lethal made its way through his patchy defence. He hurriedly cast a Shield, which was ripped apart within moments by a barrage of Bonebreakers, Severing Curses and Blasting Curses, and deflected a powerful Piercing Curse towards a nearby window, sending shards of glass spattering across the room. He flinched as pain shot through his arm. _Damn, damn, damn_. He deflected a few more spells with the tip of his wand, slowly edging backwards with the intent to escape through the now-open window, until a bolt of lightning thicker than his arm threw him through with a deadly crackle.

His back screamed in agony as he landed badly in the dark, deserted street; the shard of glass was now deeply embedded in his right arm, his left hand was broken and badly burned by the fire and subsequent lightning, and his entire body coursed with electric pain. Neville had to admit he was outclassed, and needed to get away if he wanted to live. But the Anti-Disapparition Ward was still in effect, and he had no way of escaping.

The remains of Borgin and Burke's exploded with roaring flames. He didn't know if the owner was still inside or if he'd managed to get away, but the hooded figure now strode towards him, the fire shying away, as if afraid to try and burn him.

"I warned you not to test my patience, Neville Longbottom. I had known you were in the cupboard from the very beginning, but I thought it might be right for you to have the same information. I thought you a potential ally. But you were shocked by the Death Eaters' demise, were you not? With your reaction, I suspected that you would be unwilling to help, maybe even an obstacle, on moral grounds. But tonight, you _attacked_ me. I can therefore only assume that you are an enemy."

Neville didn't respond, but made sure his wand was at the ready.

The hooded figure continued, "Desist, and I will leave you be. Live and let live, I suppose. But continue to hinder me, and I will be rather displeased. And you have seen what happens when I am displeased with someone."

With a defiant roar Neville pulled himself to his feet. "_Myolnix!_"

The unexpected Foehammer threw the figure back into the burning building with a yell of pain. Neville took the opportunity to bravely turn his tail and flee, legging it as fast as he could, hoping to be free of the Anti-Disapparition Ward. He rounded a couple of street corners, and felt the pressure lighten. He Disillusioned himself quickly, before Apparating back to his hideout – as per usual, via five or so relatively random intermediate locations, including Ron's house, Hogsmeade, and a gentleman's club in Aberystwyth.

On arrival, in a very undignified manner, he collapsed to the floor.

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Somehow, Neville woke up on the bed, in only his underpants.

His whole body was killing him. He couldn't help but say so out loud.

"My body is _literally_ killing me..."

"No it's not, Neville, if it were 'literally' killing you you'd be dead... Please learn the English language." He recognised the voice but it seemed far off, and rather weird.

He opened his eyes, promptly shutting them again as someone peering into them with the help of _Lumos_. He opened them again to let it happen and get it over and done with. As the Charm was dispelled, he got a good look at his "doctor" of the hour.

"Hermione? What the hell are you doing here?!"

She rolled her eyes. "If you're going to be _that_ ungrateful I might just tip this fifty year-old bottle of Firewhiskey down the sink and not let you taste it."

"Oh come on, I'm not _that_ much of an alcoholic!"

"No Neville, you're not an alcoholic, you just take a hipflask of the strong stuff to work every day, and go through approximately one bottle every two days."

Neville blinked at the accusatory glare being aimed at him from the standing witch. "How would you know? You've been catatonic for the past year!"

"Luna told me in a letter."

Neville sat bolt upright with a questioning look. "Last time we saw each other you were into chess."

"Yeah," Hermione shrugged, "When I read that you'd been declared Public Enemy Number One, I snapped out of it, I guess. It's not like my husband believing I'd cheat on him is anything to mope about."

Neville was simply confused. This whole situation was getting rather incomprehensible, but he didn't really have the will to question his good fortune at Hermione being there to help. He glanced at the clock and calendar on the wall, which told him he'd been asleep for about ten hours.

"But... why here?"

"Because it's the panic hideout, silly," she grinned, an expression that seemed foreign on her face, since he hadn't seen her grin for more than a year. "First place you'd run. Oh, Luna sent a letter by the way. And I checked your chart, and have filled in a gap for you. What I'd love to know is your opinion as to this hooded person your chart says killed Gibbon, since the Prophet declared that _you_ killed him."

Neville got up to pull on a robe, his back complaining as he did, and made his way over to the chart, trying to spot the addition Hermione had made. Oh, there it was.

_Ron saw Hermione shagging Stanley. Hermione denies._

_Polyjuice? Imperius and Memory Charm?_

_Paranoia says someone was trying to break them up._

_Who hates Ron and Hermione?_

_- If Polyjuice, then imposter almost definitely woman. DEs think they women._

_All women DEs known are dead (B Lestrange, A Carrow, de Tolbert) so someone else. Umbridge? Skeeter?_

Good point. Neville went mentally searching but genuinely couldn't remember what had happened to either of the two since the War. He seemed to recall Skeeter being squashed in beetle form, but wasn't sure.

Hermione repeated her query, but he didn't respond. He simply Summoned a marker pen to cross _Borgin and Burke's – DE activity_out from the list of tasks, add the missing Death Eaters to the list and complete his information on the killer.

_Free DEs: Yaxley, __Gibbon__, Dolohov, Avery, Macnair, Rosier, Orion Mulciber, Albert Runcorn, Fanny Lister (fake), __Portia de Tolbert_

_Dolohov – Dent manor in Kensington? according to Borgin_

_Hooded killer massacred DE reunion._

_1, knew me_

_2, recognised me despite Polyjuice AND Disillusionment AND diff PJ_

_3, WHAT THE HELL?!_

_Moody's eye? doubt it can see thru PJ_

_Description: bloke_

_VERY GOOD DUELLIST__ take extreme care_

_not foe but prone to violence and dark curses_

"Not a foe?" Hermione asked from over his shoulder, "Why on Earth did he do all that to you then? You looked like you were dragged out of a smashed-up, burning build- ohhh..." she cut off, clearly linking the Quibbler article about Borgin and Burke's being destroyed – that she'd read whilst he'd been sleeping, and was sat on the table – and Neville's injuries.

"Not a foe because he's going after Death Eaters. I'm not sure he's a friend, though," he replied with a shrug, before glancing at the Quibbler, "Anything interesting?"

"Another nicely written article intended to dissuade people from the Prophet's witch hunt that nobody will read. The Daily Pravda actually called Borgin a, quote 'pillar of the community', unquote. He died as the shop collapsed, according to them. So now you're 'guilty' of brutally massacring seven people having a harmless tea party, killing a 'pillar of the community', raping Rachel Campbell, jailbreaking, assaulting several Aurors _and_ cursing a superior officer. You _do_ rack up the charges, don't you?"

Neville frowned, "Rachel Campbell?"

Hermione shrugged, "Slytherin from Luna's year. Apparently you broke into the Hog's Head, where she works, and forced her to pleasure you whilst simultaneously killing Borgin this evening. You must have a Time-Turner or something, if you believe the Daily Pravda."

He sighed, "Funnily enough, I do, and I'd completely forgotten about it. I could have used it to do any number of things yesterday."

The witch sighed. "For a clever guy you can be kind of thick, you know. You talked to Ron since you covered up for him?"

Neville shook his head, and conjured quill and parchment for a quick note to the Burrow.

_Weasleys,_

_Still alive and well, albeit battered._

_Someone is screwing with me. Guy killed seven Death Eaters, and wiped the floor with me at Borgin and Burke's, AND recognised me despite Polyjuice, hood and Disillusionment. Any ideas?_

_Hermione is here._

He glanced at her, and she nodded.

_She says hi, and has snapped out of her nuttiness_.

He grinned as he got a slap. Totally worth it.

_Love,_

_Neville_

He sealed the letter in an envelope and Charmed it to only open to the password he'd given Arthur, and set it aside to send once he got the opportunity. He then picked up the envelope from Luna, only to see that it only had the word _My Neville_ written on it.

"How'd it get here? The letter has no address, and the hideout is Unplottable and Unowlable.." he asked Hermione.

"She sent it to Grimmauld Place for me to pass on to you."

He nodded and whispered the passcode, his wand touching the envelope. It unfolded and the letter slipped out.

_Nev,_

_You get yourself killed, and the pain I inflict on you will make you will wish that Bellatrix Lestrange were still alive. I want my Neville in one piece, alright?_

_I read about the whole sorry mess in the Quibbler, and I'm glad to see Dad and team are backing you up. I can't imagine what the Profiteers are writing – must be the work of Wrackspurts! Shame I'm not there to witness their hijinx first-hand!_

_Oh, and other than getting yourself killed, if you're lacking a limb by the time I get back, there'll be no sex for at least a month._

_Love,_

_L xxxxx_

Neville grinned and wrote a response.

_My Luna,_

_I don't think the editors of the DP read the Quibbler enough to know how to fend off Wrackspurts. I seem to recall Spectrespecs being the only way to spot them, and extensive use of purple the best defence. Why do you think I wear purple underwear?_

_All well otherwise: oh, and I think I can risk losing an arm, since you probably can't hold to that threat when faced with my awesome sexiness. I'm Britain's Most Wanted now, I have all that dark, brooding criminality on my side. You'll practically throw yourself at me, I'll be IRRESISTIBLE!_

_Lots of love,_

_Your Neville_

Once he'd finished sealing the letter, Hermione asked, "So, what's your plan?"

He shrugged, and pointed to the chart. "Slophouse, Hog's Head, then off to Mandy's."

"Need me to do anything?"

He shrugged. "Information is always a good thing. Ask people I can't safely contact, like Auror Harris, if you'd like."

She nodded, "I'll see you here this evening at six, hopefully less injured than yesterday." Curtseying almost mockingly, she Disapparated.

Neville took a moment to ponder if she was on drugs and, if so, if he could have some.

**NLNLNLNLNLNLNLNLNLNLNLNLNL**

**AN: **I struggled a little more with this chapter than the others, but I somehow pulled through. I just need to spend more time writing and less time having a life :p

The correspondence between Neville and Luna _totally_ doesn't resemble various conversations I've had with mygirlfriend... yes, _including _the Wrackspurt references. We're awesome that way.


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